


foolish catharsis

by mountsky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Gao Hakuba deserves nice things, Hirugami Sachirou is not a nice thing, Implied really, Kissing, Light Angst, Lust, M/M, Making Out, Post-Break Up, References to Depression, Smoking, Temporarily Unrequited Love, This isn't about Two Tall Gay men, at first, lots of, this is life or death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountsky/pseuds/mountsky
Summary: Gao’s eyes widen briefly before his lips pull into a smile. Sachirou glares at him. He’s definitely drunk. There’s a softness in his eyes that could be dangerous to stare into, a few strands of his hair have fallen from his overly-gelled style and into his eyes. His ears are red. It’s infuriatingly endearing.-or the one where Sachirou ruins a friendship.
Relationships: Hirugami Sachirou/Hakuba Gao
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> bet you never thought you'd end up here, huh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tracks I listened to whilst writing: 
> 
> [you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zp1okMSCXEM) by Mk.gee
> 
> [E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5d4SJv2d6M) by CORPSE (Explicit)
> 
> [lying has to stop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFkAjX0Gz8Y) by Soft Hair
> 
> [damn Right](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbBL3e00qrI) by AUDREY NUNA

Sachirou doesn’t look down. Not if he can help it. Down is for losers, he tells himself. Down and back is for regret, he tells himself. And so instead he looks up, where nothing gets in his way, where if he turns his head at a certain angle it's just Sachirou and the wind and the blue of the sky.

And then Gao Hakuba’s massive head emerges and his life falls to pieces around him.

* * *

It’s not like Kourai. It had taken him years to realise he was in love with Korai. It had taken him months to work up the courage to let his thumb linger on Kourai’s lips. It had taken him an age to bridge the space between them.

Gao is nothing like Kourai.

He falls headfirst, looking up, stuck looking up and feeling overwhelmed and sick to his stomach.

* * *

The first time it happens, butterflies in his stomach, they are eighteen years old, miraculously at the same college, and they shouldn’t be drinking.

They shouldn’t be drinking but Gao Hakuba is two metres tall and wears a leather jacket that makes him look both stupid and sexy at the same time and Sachirou doesn’t know what to do with this information.

They share six cans of beer between them, sat at the abandoned skatepark by Sachirou’s house. Sachirou pulls the second can from Kourai’s fingers when the red flush starts to creep up on his shoulders and Kourai looks at him with sleepy soft eyes. Cute.

Sachirou leans back when Kourai gets up with a random spurt of energy, tackling the monkey bars and leaving them together.

It's not like it's awkward. It isn't. Gao is his friend. But there’s a tension he doesn’t really understand. Theres a role he falls in to around Kourai, a secure firm role that he knows like the back of his hand. It’s hard to be that person with Gao Hakuba.

“You’re flushed,” Gao says. And it’s one comment out of a thousand. It's like every other comment, a statement. And yet- Sachirou turns to look at him. Look up at him. The shaved sides of his hair look like they’d be soft under the pads of his calloused finger tips.

Everything about Gao looks like it’d be soft under his fingertips.

“Hey-“ Gao says and before Sachirou can think, before he can breathe, Gao’s reaching down, patting his hand gently against Sachirou’s cheek. Stealing the breath from his lungs. Big hands. “You alright?”

Liberties. Gao is taking liberties. And yet-

Sachirou can’t remember the last time someone had been bigger than him. His stomach twists with it, clenches and squeezes the breathe out of him for enough time for Gao’s eyes to widen and dart down to where Sachirou hadn’t realised he’d been biting his bottom lip.

Sachirou’s inhale is sharp and fast, a spark lighting between them as Gao’s eyes go impossible darker-

“What-“ he manages, shoving Gao’s warm fingers from the curve of his jaw, from around the trembling of his heart. “-are you doing?”

Gao’s cheeks flush, deep and warm, and when he looks down the moment is gone and Sachirou can breathe again.

Theres a flash of panic that he tamps down on, turning to stare at Koirai-kun’s handstand in the distance. The embers of what he feels flare momentarily, a familiar deep love that he finds comfort in.

He looks at Gao and it’s like a shock of electricity. Confusing, unfamiliar, hungry.

* * *

Sachirou makes sure he’s not alone with Gao again, terrified of the feeling that had set his blood singing and heart beating.

It’s difficult at first. Their friendship hadn’t been something Sachirou really thought deeply about. Not like Kourai, not life changing. Gao’s just a normal friend, had been for years. And the suddenness of how that had all changed left him off-balance. Every fleeting glance feels weighted now, every casual touch, heavy with the realisation that Sachirou wants them to linger.

He wants Gao. He wants him so desperately the only way he can handle it is to be as far away from him as possible.

They’re in different departments, different sections of campus. And for the first few weeks Sachirou ducks and avoids every glimpse of Gao’s earnest little face. There’s a little guilt, they only had each other here, Kourai training too far away - Sachirou’s Gao’s only friend. But it’s precisely because they’re friends that he’s doing this. To save that friendship.

He’s not in love. He doesn’t want to be in love with Gao Hakuba. But he does want those hands on his body, he does want those black eyes trailing down his body the way they had back at the skate park. He wants his attention in ways he shouldn’t. In ways that would ruin their friendship.

So Sachirou keeps his headphones on, keeps to later and later nights at the library, keeps to short texts, being late to their rare scheduled meetings, keeps to groups in the canteen, keeps to missing volleyball practice, keeps to looking away, keeps a lid on the lust, keeps the secret close to his heart and keeps denying with everything that he is.

He’s not in love with Gao Hakuba.

* * *

It’s not that Sachirou doesn’t like parties, with their loud thumping music, their crushed cans beneath his boots, their eclectic mix of the smell of stale beer and BO. it’s just that, in all honesty, he’d rather be anywhere but stood in the middle of the volleyball captain’s living room, watching the team attempt to crab walk up the stairs. Anywhere else on earth. They already drink so much anyway, the drink every week at food, in the lounge room, in the park. He doesn’t see why he has to be here. In someone else’s home, drinking as well. 

But here he is, dragged along with one hand in his pocket and his other clasped firmly in Futakuchi’s.

“Heads up!”

The shout almost makes him spill his glass over Kenji’s smug little face and its only years of volleyball that have in backing up in time to avoid the ball flying across the room.

He backs into someones chest the same time he hears the ball thud against flesh and the dull grunt of pain he used to hear years ago with his serves hitting the back of Gao’s head.

He turns and his hands fly up to Gao’s face, cupping his jaw over the hand that clutched at his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Sachirou breathes, backing his friend into the kitchen and against the counter. “Let me see.” His voice comes out firmer than he thought it would, thanks to the lifetime of being friends with both Kourai and Gao.

“Sachirou?” Gao says when Sachirou manages to pull his big hand from his face to prod gently at the lump forming on his forehead. He can almost feel the way that Gao begs for his eye contact but Sachirou doesn’t give in, wetting a kitchen towel to dab at it his temple. It’s an unnecessary gesture, one he knows does nothing but reassure and comfort his patient. He doesn’t stop.

“You just need to stick a plaster on it,” he says, throwing the kitchen towel behind him. Aggressive, he notes, to make up for how ridiculously gentle he’d been. Stupid. “It’ll heal fine, but to be safe, maybe don’t sleep for awhile. I’m assuming you’d had a bit to drink too, so you have to-“

“Sachirou-“ Gao says again and this time he can’t help the hiss of annoyance that slips through his clenched teeth.

Gao’s eyes widen briefly before his lips pull into a smile. Sachirou glares at him. He’s definitely drunk. There’s a softness in his eyes that could be dangerous to stare into, a few strands of his hair have fallen from his overly-gelled style and into his eyes. His ears are red. It’s infuriatingly endearing.

“I can tell when you’re avoiding a subject,” Gao murmurs. He takes Sachirou’s hands, still wet from the towel, dries them on the front of his VolleyBu hoodie, and then he presses Sachirou’s hand to his lips.

Sachirou does the first thing that pops into his panicked mind.

He punches Gao square in the nose.

There’s a choked, cut off groan of pain, a jeer and a smattering of laughter from around him, Sachirou thinks he can hear Kenji whistle, he’s not sure, his heart is beating so fast he can barely focus on the whines that Gao is letting out. Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck-

“Hirugami, what the fuck?” Gao hisses, cupping his nose, his bleeding, most likely broken nose

“Oh my god,” He chokes out, hands hovering. “I am sorry, I am-“

He’s so overwhelmed by guilt that it takes him a minute to realise that Gao’s shoulders are shaking in laughter, not pain. Then it takes him another minute to realise that only one of Gao’s hands are on his face. The other-

The other has been wrapped around his waist for the last five minutes.

“It’s okay, nothings broken. I’m feeling a lil’ woozy though, not gonna lie.” Sachirou quirks a brow and lets out a breath, something akin to resignation flooding through his veins. He’s always been surrounded by morons who never knew when to quit. Kourai had stared his obstacles head on and stubborn. Gao, on the other hand, took his time with them. Lamented them a little.

It’s been half a year since they last saw each other and almost kissed. More than enough time to lament. Gao’s a moron but he’s not stupid and Sachirou can see the clarity in those eyes despite the harshness of the kitchen lightbulb.

“I know you want to talk,” Sachirou says, sighing. “But you’re drunk. I’m drunk. I’m pretty sure you’re concussed. And this isn’t the right place.”

Excuses, really. But he’s not ready for this conversation just yet.

“We don’t need to talk.”

Sachirou’s head snaps up from where he’d unconsciously brought it down. He doesn’t like being surprised, he realises. When he’d been with Korai he’d know what to expect, learnt how to read Korai’s tells in the creases of his face. Gao’s smiling still, light and easy. It’s unnerving.

“What? You’ve been desperate for my attention and-“

“Hey, desperate’s an exaggeration-“

“You literally make eyes at me from across the canteen and-“

“I have eyes, I don’t make them, you’re not making sense-“

“You’re staring at my lips right now.”

There isn’t a retort this time.

Sachirou’s lips part and he watches Gao’s eyes, deep and dark, follow the movement before he registers what’d been said.

“And so what if I am?” Gao breathes, and the electricity is back, shocking the breath from Sachirou’s lungs with its intensity. It’d be so easy to lean in. There’s blood in the curve of Gao’s cupid bow, his beard is patchy, there’s sweat at his temple. It’s disgusting. But Sachirou’s body is moving without his permission. He breathes out, rests his hand on Gao’s thigh. “Try not to think for once,” Gao says.

It’s so very easy to lean into the murmur in Gao’s voice. The familiarity in his smile. The warmth of his flesh under Sachirou’s hand. If he stretches, if he really tries, his hand wouldn’t cover the breadth of his thigh. It’s been- So long since Sachirou felt so small.

It’s as he if knows, as if he can tell when Sachirou’s wavering, as if he somehow is smart enough to comprehend that Sachirou is seconds from breaking point. Because Gao’s hand, impossibly larger than his own, warmer than his own, sturdier than his, finds the curve of his jaw and this time when he tilts Sachirou’s head up, he doesn’t resist.

He wants to. The rational part of him wants to press his hand to Gao’s chest and push him back, to press his fingers against the nose he’d punched and see him wince. The rational part of him wonders if he’s ever been this reckless before. And the reckless part of him delves into the kiss like a bird diving for prey.

That’s right. Gao is his prey.

And his lips part under Sachirou’s with a delicate gasp he hadn’t been expecting. Sachirou devours him. He licks into his mouth, feverish and desperate, and he’s not sure where this urge came from. He’s not sure if its always been there (eighteen with Gao’s hand on his cheek), or it’s a recent development to Gao’s silly little undercut, and his terrible little beard that scratches so wonderfully against Sachirou’s jaw. He’s not sure about anything at all apart from the grounding hand on his face, on his hip.

It had been months, months since he’d been this close to another man. Months since the memory of Kourai’s hands on his body had faded. Months since he’d felt so close to overheating.

Gao’s hands are hot. His mouth is hot. His entire body reaches fever pitch and Sachirou is barely thinking.

“Sachirou,” Gao says, and there he goes again. Taking liberties. Moaning Sachirou’s name like he has the right. His legs draw Sachirou in, further and further, and this is beyond anything either of them had ever done. It’s almost okay. It’s almost a stranger licking the seam of his lips, its almost a strangers broad shoulders under his hands, it’s almost but not quite.

His fingers slide up, over the soft buzzcut that he ached to linger on, to the longer raven dark hair. He grabs a fistful, tests Gao’s limits. He yanks, and Gao groans, bearing his neck for Sachiro.

The hunger that slams into him makes his vision blur.

This is dangerous. It’s primal. His nose runs along the sharp jaw, his lips open mouthed and heady over his skin, his teeth- Almost but not quite.

He sucks in a deep breath and takes a step back.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he manages, barely able to look at the destruction he’d wrought on his friend in the space of ten minutes.

Sachirou quirks a brow, pats Gao's chest and turns. He tries to tell himself that the thought of Gao's lips, cherry with how hard Sachiro had bitten them, doesn't plague him. 

* * *


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mood: 
> 
> i should be ashamed how I break for you /when you're not around, I just ache for you - [boys like you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkJZR_XUahg) by tanerelle 
> 
> in the end, to the beginning/ you're suspending me up, with a feeling - [ache](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyB61XiggvM) by FKA twigs
> 
> hear the harmony, only when it's harming me/ it's not real, it's not real enough - [geyser](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zdFZJf-B90) by mitski
> 
> nothing's gonna hurt you baby /as long as you're with me, you'll be just fine - [nothings gonna hurt you baby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QI8VrXkffcg) by cigarettes after sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I'm continuing this because its incredibly therapeutic for me! I hope you enjoy, also please check the updated tags :)

_(12 unread messages)_

  
**Hakuba Gao [08:32pm]:** Hirugami where r u  
  
 **Hakuba Gao:** hello?????  
 **Hakuba Gao:** r u alive?   
  
**Hirugami Sachirou[10:54pm]:** sci library, come, bring coffee plz  


* * *

  
The sofas in the science library are comfy. The computer desks give him lower back pain, the tables on the first floor are always sticky, but the sofas… They’re comfy. He usually gets in for three, after lectures, after a full day of staring at projectors and scribbling notes and smiling blandly at his course mates. He finds himself a sofa on the third floor, spreads all his notes out on the table in front so no one would even think of sitting across from him, and he works on his essays until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Then he’ll take a nap on the comfy sofa and do it all again. It’s a routine that’s worked for a year now. It’s a routine he finds comfort in. So when he tells Gao to come, he’s not expecting to somehow still feel so at ease.   
  
Yes the sofa’s in the science library are comfy, but life is cruel and fate is crueller because it turns out that nothing is as comfy as Gao’s chest at midnight on a cold wednesday night.   


They’d been meaning to talk. But Sachiro had an essay due, and an aversion to talking about things, and Gao had been considerate, which was new, and warm. They’d been meaning to talk and instead Sachiro slowly wakes up to find that he’s all but drooled on his friends chest and Gao is staring a little too intently at the laptop open in front of him.

He’s watching a match. Sachiro knows this one, they’d watched it together in high school. Gao only a minute in and Sachiro had definitely been asleep for longer.   
  
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Gao says cheerfully and Sachiro glares at him like that alone would take the smile off his face.

It doesn’t. He’s still smiling. Sachiro’s body is still plastered to Gao’s left side. They are still far too close and they have yet to talk about what happened.   
  
“How long did I sleep?” Sachiro says instead because he knows he can get extra points when he’s sleepy-soft and cute.

He doesn’t expect the hand darting out to grab his face and squish his cheeks together.

Sachirou lashes out and pokes Gao’s side hard enough to make him yelp and let go, earning them the wrath of students on the other side of the floor.   
  
“Fucking hell,” Gao hisses, rubbing his side and pouting, “You slept for twenty minutes, you needed it, also I’ve never seen anyone down a shot of coffee and immediately pass out like that. Impressive.”   
  
Sachirou doesn’t say that its the first time he’s felt comfortable enough to sleep in a friends presence that isn’t Kourai. That’s giving too much away and Gao doesn’t need to know.   
  
Instead he stands up and stretches, relishing the faint rush and the gentle cracks in his back.

Then he remembers he’s wearing his only pair of clean underwear and immediately pulls his sweater down over the Spiderman band of his boxers.   
  
Gao’s smirking at him, his eyes are dark and half lidded.   
  
Sachirou blushes and consoles himself with the fact that he would punch him in the face if it wasn’t already bruised from two days ago.   
  
“Shut up,” he murmurs, throwing himself back down on the couch and waking up his laptop.   
  
“I didn’t say anything,” Gao says, smile in his voice even when Sachirou is pointedly not looking at him.   
  
He moves his arm. And Sachirou raises a brow to deter him before Gao can complete the movement of resting it along the back of the couch. It doesn’t work and now Gao’s arm is mere centimetres from resting along his broad shoulders.   
  
“You’re cranky when you wake up, has anyone ever told you that?”   
  
Sachirou makes a noise and doesn’t elaborate. The truth is that no-one’s told him that. They tell him he’s cute. They tell him he’s adorable. They stroke his cheek and kiss his lip and pull him into their arms. They tell him he looks like an angel when he sleeps.

But not Gao. It’s a lingering reminder that he and Kourai are over. And that he and Gao are doing whatever this is.   
  
He looks back at the remnant’s of Gao’s smile, lingering at the corner of his mouth. And Sachirou thinks that maybe he’d like for that smile to kiss him awake once.   
  
“I hate you,” he says promptly, annoyed at himself. It isn’t composed, it isn’t a comeback. But it’ll do. He reminds himself that Gao’s not smart enough to read between the lines of his blush and his frown and the short answers he can barely muster. He tells himself he doesn’t feel Gao’s exhale beside him. “Are you doing work?”

Gao hums and sighs and shakes his head, “I don’t really understand what I’m supposed to be doing for this assignment.”  
  
“So you thought a better use of your time would be pretending you weren’t watching me sleep?“  
  
There it is. The soft startled look that flutters over Gao’s features. The look that makes Sachirou hungry and feral and reckless all at once.   
  
“I wasn’t watching you sleep,” he says, but it’s too late. The balls back in Sachirou’s court and he loves it.   
  
“Yes, you were.”  
  
“You were drooling, Hirugami, this is an expensive shirt. Just because you don’t care about what you wear on campus doesn’t mean I don’t-”  
  
He’s flustered, Sachirou notes. He’s flustered and Sachirou can feel the power flooding his veins.  
  
“Uh huh.” He turns, lips pursed, leaves Gao floundering.   
  
“Hey! I wasn’t-”  
  
“It’s okay, you can say you want to kiss me,” Sachirou says, aware he’s pushing it, pushing buttons that produce results he’s yet to figure out. He can’t help it. Whatever this is between them, it’s exciting and invigorating.   
  
Gao takes a deep breath in.

And then he’s there. He’s there by Sachirou’s ear.  
  
“I know what you’re doing,” Gao whispers, with confidence his breathy voice betrays, sending a puff of air down his neck.   
  
Sachirou manages to restrain a shiver.   
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hakuba-san,” he breathes right back, turning. He’s not sure if it’s a miscalculation or its that reckless part that takes over his brain and commandeers his senses. They’re close enough to press their lips together. If they wanted to. They’re close enough to admit defeat and lean into the electricity that sparks between them.   


And then Gao says, unpredictably, unashamedly, unflinchingly.   
  
“I want to kiss you.”   
  
And the balls ripped from his hands without his permission and Sachirou is left blinking and shocked to his core.   
  
It’s just a moment before he manages to compose himself but Gao doesn’t break their eye contact, refuses to look away, and Sachirou feels like he can’t breathe.   
  
“What a shame,” Sachirou manages to get out, around the ache in his throat. He turns to his computer, loses this round, wills his body to cool down. “This essay’s due at ten am tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait.”  
  
“What?” The word’s ripped from his lips. Without his permission.   
  
“I’ll wait. How many words do you have left? It’s not like you to leave something last minute.”   
  
When did Gao learn to percieve him so well? Why does it feel like Sachirou is barely keeping his balance?  
  
Since when did Gao Hakuba have the ability to tilt Sachirou’s world in such little time?  
  
“It’s finished,” he says reluctantly, “But I need to proof read and add a conclusion.” Which isn’t a lie but it may as well be one for all that it bothers Gao. He looks self-satisfied, content.   
  
It irks Sachirou, and the fact that he’s letting someone like Gao irk him is- Irksome. He doesn’t like being on the other end of this uncertainty.  
  
“Okay,” Gao says and he opens his laptop back up to the sight of equations that make Sachirou’s head ache.   
  
It’s a shock to see him like this, to watch him take his glasses out of their pouch and pull out a pen and pad. To see him in a turtle neck that the creases marked into his cheek can confirm is as soft as it looks, his hair painstakingly styled. He’d always thought Gao was stupid, easily riled up. But then- Sachirou’s most influential moments had been created, shaped, negotiated through volleyball. Gao off-court is nothing like Gao on-court. Gao off-court is someone that a traitorous part of Sachirou wants to get to know. He doesn’t fall for Sachirou’s decoys when there’s not a net in front of them, and he reads Sachirou so well that he’d be proud if it isn’t so terrifying.

* * *

They work in peace for a little while. As peaceful as it can be with their bodies flush and the heat of Gao’s glances burning into the side of his face and blazing down his neck.

Things change after midnight, Sachiro realises.

Gao changes.

The libraries empty now. It’s just them and the security guard that walks past them every ten or so minutes. Sachirou had looked down for what felt like a moment and when he’d looked up again Gao had packed his things away. The lights had turned off at some point between him finishing up his referencing and submitting and Gao hadn’t disturbed him.

He’s sat against the arm of the sofa, one leg propped up against the back whilst the other dangles to the ground. His eyes are closed, his head is resting on his propped up elbow. He doesn’t look two metres tall. He looks small enough for Sachirou to consume whole.   
  
Sachirou starts crawling before he realises what he’s doing. And by the time he does, the curiosity’s already filled his veins. He’s moving on sheer recklessness again. He’s moving without a thought to the consequences. How bad can they be, he reasons to himself, when the alternative is the overwhelming feeling of a missed opportunity?  
  
His fingertips find the sharp jut of Gao’s cheekbone, linger there for a second and trace down the slope of his cheek. His skin is soft. Softer than he thought it would be. He settles on his hunches and then drops his hand to Gao’s chest. Where Sachirou had fallen asleep. Where Gao’s heart thuds, rhythmic and stable against the palm of his hand.   
  
“Sachirou,” Gao whispers, and he looks from where his hands splay over Gao’s chest to his eyes. Gao changes after midnight, Sachirou realises.

The hunger remains. But it’s tender. The air between them is tight, wringing with tension, Gao looks like he’s in pain, and Sachirou’s done nothing but feel his beating heart.   
  
“Gao,” he says back. Quietly. Tenderly. He can’t bring himself to be sickened by the longing in his voice. It’s dark. It’s passed midnight. It’s Gao.   
  
Hand on his hip again. Hand by his waist, curving round to his back to slip under his sweater and rest where he had not given permission but welcomes all the same.   
  
“Sachirou, can I kiss you now?”  
  
The breath is forced from his lungs in a whimper and he lurches forward.   
  
When their lips meet its softer than he’s expecting. Because Gao is unpredictable and infuriating. When their lips meet Sachirou tries everything he knows to take control again. But Gao is unpredictable and infuriating.   
  
His hand slips into Sachirou’s hair, covers the base of his neck and rubs along his scalp. His lips tease at the hunger Sachirou can feel rising within him. Tender and so achingly slow. Not like this, Sachirou wants to scream.   
  
And its as if Gao’s knows. It’s as if he can feel the blows of Sachirou’s frustration because his hand runs slowly up to his neck where he cups Sachirou’s face and he has the audacity to whisper, “It’s okay.”   
  
Sachirou jerks back as though he’s been burnt.   
  
He’s lightheaded but he refuses to show it, focusing on shoving his things in his bag and trying to make sense of the rage that had blindsided him.

Gao doesn’t question him. He sees him rub his bottom lip briefly, sees the strain of his neck when he drops his head back, but he doesn’t do anything else and for that Sachirou’s grateful. He feels like he’s one comment away from doing something dangerous.   
  
“You owe me a drink,” he says instead, once Sachirou has his messenger across his body and his scarf thrown around his neck. Sachirou snorts as they go down the stairs in tandem and walk out into the biting cold night. He doesn’t manage to suppress his first shiver. He hates wearing his coat because it’s bulky, and somehow he thinks that a scarf and a denim jacket over his sweater will be warm enough. He purposefully doesn’t think about how Gao is just tall enough to tuck him into his embrace and wrap his leather jacket around him and how he’s never felt that before and how desperately he’d like to feel it just once.

“I owe you a punch to the face when your nose is healed,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and starting the walk to the vending machine still open on campus. He does owe Gao a drink, but he knows its an excuse. Knows that Gao wants to figure out some kind of closure on the fact that Sachirou had been staring at him sleep too. He knows its an excuse to spend more time together.

And he does it anyway.

* * *

Gao is ridiculously tall, Sachirou thinks to himself as they wait at the bus stop for his bus that’s twenty minutes away. Gao doesn’t need to be here, he lives on campus, a mere ten minute walk. His sports scholarship kept him close. Sachirou’s the one who’d had to move further out to find a decent studio that he didn’t need to pay through his ass for.

It has the added benefit of being far enough away that he’s never expected to host gatherings. It’s also closer to Kourai’s training grounds than his college but that nudges his heart into something painful so he doesn’t linger on it.

Their juice bottles sit finished in the wastebasket beside them, after Gao had stolen Sachirou’s and drank more than half in the time it had taken Sachirou to deliver a kick to the back of his knee and get it back.

The tension’s still there but it's less volatile than before. The night could end like this, Sachirou thinks. With Gao’s hair blue in the moonlight, his cheeks rosy from the cold, his smile trained on Sachirou.   
  
He almost trips for the third time over Gao’s long legs as he paces and he turns to glare at Gao like its his fault. And Gao puts his hands up in surrender like it’s his fault.

And the laughter bubbles from his chest before he has a chance to stop it.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” Gao says, still smiling.

And- Sachirou so desperately wants to kiss him. It’s said as casually as his breath. It’s said without shame. It’s said so earnestly that it steals the breath from his lungs.

Sachirou wants to tell him that he’s wrong. That Gao’s the one who- makes him laugh when he least expects it. Gao in the moonlight makes him tremble. Makes him yearn. Makes him want to reach out and trace that smile, to memorise the feeling of it under the pads of his fingers.

His worlds tilted without his permission. The balls dropped to the floor of the court. He doesn’t know what to do.

“We don’t need to talk,” Gao says before Sachirou’s managed to begin to understand the pang in his chest, “I know you don’t want to. It’s obvious by now that I think you’re beautiful.”   
  
Earnest and sure.   
  
“That’s not wise,” Sachirou manages, body gravitating towards Gao until he can stand between his legs and look down at him.   
  
“What? Thinking you’re beautiful?”   
  
Yes. _Falling for me,_ Sachirou almost says.   
  
“I’ll break your heart,” he says instead, his mouth quirking up in a feeble attmept of a smile. He needs to be transparent about this. He’s a mess of conflicting emotions, there’s guilt and there’s desire, but underneath it all- There’s fear that he doesn’t want to acknowledge.   
  
“I know,” Gao says, bringing his hands up to rest on Sachirou’s hips. He swears he can feel the warmth of his thumbs through the layers. “I know you will.”

It’s not said any type of way but the clarity in Gao’s eyes makes Sachirou’s breath hitch, makes his stomach tighten, makes goosebumps spread across his skin.   
  
”Why are you still touching me then?” A whisper. Fogging the air between them.   
  
“Because I don’t care.”   
  
Gao’s picked up the ball again. His eyes are dark enough to reflect the moon, and the stars, and Sachirou feels like he could lose himself trying to map them.   
  
“This is a bad id-“  
  
“You think too much.”   
  
Fuck. 

Gao stands up, cups his face and Sachirou is helpless again, yet again, folding into his arms like he never learned how to stand on his own and Gao holds him up effortlessly, grounds him with large warm fingers on his jaw, a secure firm grip on his hips and Sachirou feels dizzy, shaken to his core, lost and aching and found and shining all at once. This kiss is hungry in a way he doesn't think he's ever experienced before. It's desperate and soft, its too much and not enough all at once. Gao's invaded his senses, burrowed deep inside his chest and stayed there, making a home for himself, kiss by kiss hypnotising him.   
  
The bus rolls up as Gao pulls back from the kiss. Sachirou’s eyes had closed without his permission and when he opens them Gao is looking at him so fondly it clogs up his throat.   
  
“I’ll text you,” he breathes before leaning in for a final kiss and leaving Sachirou to hold open the door so the bus doesn’t drive away.   
  
It’s only later. Later with the Tokyo city scape flashing passed his eyes, later with the feeling coming back to his lips, later when his heart has managed to find its rhythm again and the ground beneath his feet has turned from soft earth to concrete. It’s only later that he realises what’s happened.   
  
And on the empty bus, with no-one to witness, he presses his fingers to his lips and lets his eyes flutter shut with the memory, and refuses to overthink.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's gonna be five chapters or so to this, and I'm planning on updated every thursday but I am adhd so like please don't expect anything from me lol . I am on twitter!!! @HIRUG5O :P


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mood: 
> 
> tell me how do you make everything feel a little easier/ so I stay here 'til waking hours - [all night (garage session)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSipxovUB-4) by men I trust
> 
> us on the bed, half a meter apart / awkward hearts beating faster and faster / faster and faster we'll cut through the park / stick to the path, I can't stick to the path / cause I dream about nothing but you - [eat, sleep, wake (nothing but you) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFb86yrodxE) by bombay bicycle club
> 
> oh lover, you run from me / we move like a bad scene shot in the dark - [ oh baby ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gIhrPGyu6U)by lcdsoundsystem
> 
> hold your heart while you swim / I'll be your wallflower - [wallflower](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Birm3b3Pk2I) by larkins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I disappeared lol, basically i got a new job and also had massive issues with school re outstanding modules but I think its okay now! anyway, here we go! for the like 2 of you that care about hirugao this chapter is probably going to be an absolute rollercoaster. 
> 
> ive updated tags to reflect, please please check them. if you think I need to tag anything else let me know. also let me know what you thought of the chapter! or of hirugao in general ( I tried to convince myself to drop this rare-pair, the only content is what I make and im slow and busy but I cant I love them too much)

Gao slams shut the Intro to Modern Science textbook and can’t stop the helpless groan that spills from his lips as he lets his head drop down on top of it. He has Freedman et al for the thoughts plaguing his mind. Thoughts that revolve around Sachiro’s eyes and how under the fluorescent light of the science library they look like too specific a galaxy, a supernova. And how it scares him that he can’t think of Sachiro in any terms that any less intense. He’s a star, beautiful and seconds from imploding and sucking Gao in. 

It’s been like this for a week now. Ever since one am at the bus stop and the memory of Sachiro’s tiny little smile imprinted on his mind. Ever since he’d been possessed by this terrifying desperation to have Sachiro’s attention on him. Ever since he’d been told he’d be hurt, and he’d kissed him anyway. Because that smile had made Gao’s heart flip, tremble and shudder like he was fifteen and staring at Sachiro from across the court again. That’s why he keeps coming back. It’s different, seeing that smile directed his way. Seeing it soft and tender for him and him alone. It had been- It had been hard enough, catching sight of that smile, the little crinkle of his eyes, when it has been for one person and one person alone. Having it directed to Gao, stupid, worthless Gao- It’s intoxicating. 

There’s no space for his equations, his assignments, there’s no space for his mother, to ask if she’s holding up okay, what the doctor had said this time. There’s no space to reply to Hoshiumi, or Nozawa. There’s no space for the guilt that’s threatening to consume him. 

All there is, and honestly, all there has ever been, is Hirugami Sachiro. 

He’s had to cancel on three different drinking occasions with the volleyball club, though he’d shown up to practice distant and consumed with thought. 

He looks at the messages from his mom, scrolling through their conversation and thumb hovering over the call button. He wants to call her and doesn’t at the same time. It’s not that they can’t talk about things. His mom’s spent his entire life making sure he knows he can open with her, honest and free. He lucked out. But there’s a heavy guilt that weighs on him everytime he considers taking any bit of her energy. As though he doesn’t deserve it, as though he isn’t allowed it. And for something as stupid as a hopeless crush on his best friend and his best friends ex - it doesn’t seem worth it.

The alert for a new message comes up as he’s deliberating just how much of a burden he can be and before he can process the words, before he can consider any answer that isn’t a resounding yes, he’s already on his feet and grabbing his jacket.

-

 **Hirugami Sachiro [09:32pm]:** can u come over? please? 

**Hirugami Sachiro: [09:33pm]:** the coed is korai’s birthday

 **Hakuba Gao [09:40pm]:** yh

-

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when the door swings open. There’s a few half formed thoughts tapped idly on the bus in the notes app of his phone, reasons why he’d be good for Sachiro. Reason’s why he’d be terrible for Sachiro. A painful list of people that would probably stop talking to him if they got together. And worst of all, a filled note of moments he’d fallen in love with Sachiro. Started in highschool with the latest addition being four days ago with the memory of his lips. 

There’s the niggling feeling at the back of his mind that Sachiro’s going to tell him to stop- stop loving him. And he’s ready for it, he knows the consequences. Knows it’ll hurt him. He’s never been any good at expecting the best. Life can be cruel and it doesn’t owe him, Gao Hakuba, anything. 

But whatever he’s about to say vanishes, dries on his lips, chokes in his throat. He’ll never know if he was seconds from professing his love, if the process of inputting Hoshiumi’s birthday in the code of Sachiro’s flat will have pushed him over the edge. Because Sachiro’s crying and the sight of his bitten lips and flushed cheeks feels like a blow to Gao’s chest. 

He’s never seen Sachiro Hirugami cry before. 

It feels like static coursing through his body where it shouldn’t. 

It’s wrong. 

“Hey,” Sachiro says and its a broken little thing, a rueful terrible smile on his lovely lips. Sachiro looks like he’s seconds from sobbing and bristling with tension at the same time. If Gao gets too close, he’ll get hurt. 

He lurches forward. 

His empathy, his mother had said, his empathy would ruin him one day. He’d brushed her off with as much grace as a ten year old could, knowing far too young that she had loved and she’d been hurt for it. 

But the visceral reaction that courses through his body now, the fierce protectiveness, makes him wonder if she’d been right. That despite his best attempts he’d gone and gotten invested.

“Sa- Hirugami,” he manages, when his friend leaves the door open and shuffles away to the direction of his kitchen. 

He yanks off his trainers and lets them drop in the genkin, throwing his jacket somewhere. It’s not important. 

Sachiro’s disappeared from room. Somehow. Gao thinks that maybe he’s locked himself in the toilet until he hears a gentle sniffle under the table in the kitchen. 

“Sachiro?” He says, crouching to find all 6 foot three of him bundled as small as possible to fit under there. There’s an opened bag of bread. His phone is open on “ASMR RAINDROP SOUNDS TO STUDY TO” that makes Gao think they should be in a mountain meditation rather than here and when he looks at Gao its with the helpless sort of resignation that makes his stomach drop. 

He crawls under there without a word, knocking too long legs on rickety wooden table legs. Wraps his arm around Sachiro’s shoulder, despite the tension, the knowledge he could get hurt, and he waits. 

He thinks about wounded wild animals. He thinks about chasing rabbits through the fields with Hoshiumi and Sachiro, he thinks about how they’d trembled and how cruel he’d been without realising.

His entire body tingles with apprehension. He doesn’t know if what he’s doing is helping, silently listening, holding his body close, warming him. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He wants to help him so frantically the feeling crawls up his throat and tightens in a lump. 

It takes less than five seconds for Sachiro to do it, to break down in his arms, to suck in a deep shuddering breath and let it go with a god awful noise. Gao’s heart aches. It screams. He presses his lips to Sachiro’s forehead, lets him turn his head to cry into his chest, lets his knuckles turn white with how hard he grips Gao’s shirt. 

Objectively he’d known that Hirugami wasn’t okay. He’d been there for high school and he’d heard stuff, dark jokes, about his time in middle school. But it had always felt so far away. Sachiro gets sad sometimes. Kourai deals with it. 

Sachiro gets so sad he chokes himself on his tears sometimes. 

Sachiro gets so sad he crawls under his kitchen table and eats bread out of its bag sometimes. 

Sachiro gets so sad he stops texting back for weeks sometimes. 

“You’re okay,” Gao says, his voice coming out a lot firmer than he’d felt before. He feels close to breaking himself. It’s - hard to see Sachiro like this. Not just because Gao loves him, wants him. But because it doesn’t seem fair. 

And maybe, that was the point. 

It’s not fair. 

It’s altogether too easy to fall into caring about Sachiro. 

He’s not sure how long they stay like that. Long enough for his neck to protest its odd angle, long enough for his ass to get numb from the tile beneath it. Not as long as Sachiro though, so he swallows his questions and stays firm and strong. Sachiro cries. And he cries. There are bitten off words, half formed sentences that hurt too much to try and make sense of. Sachiro wonders why he’s never good enough. And Gao tells him good is subjective. Sachiro wonders if it will ever get easier. And Gao tells him he doesn’t know. Sachiro wonders if there’s a point. 

And Gao tries his hardest to whisper the reasons to keep living in the mop of his hair. 

He’s not stupid enough to think Sachiro will do anything to himself. But he’s similarly not stupid enough to think that this is the first time Sachiro’s felt like this. 

So he stays as his ass gets numb, and his neck screams, and his arms tingle, wrapped around Sachiro. 

Sachiro moves back and hangs his head, pulling away from the warmth of Gao’s arms. He crawls out of their little den and comes back with a glass of water that Sachiro pulls a face at when he presses the rim to his lips. His face feels hot against the brush of Gao’s fingers. 

“How you feeling?”

Sachiro’s sigh is heavy and slow. 

“Tired,” he says and Gao finds that now he’s held him, pressed his lips to his forehead, can’t imagine leaving his hands empty. He reaches up and cups Sachiro’s face, tensing when his head goes heavy and limp and Sachiro relies on Gao’s strength to hold it up. He shuffles closer. 

“You’re too tall to be under your kitchen table, Sachiro,” Gao whispers into the heat of the intimate space between them. 

Sachiro cracks the first barely there genuine smile of the night.

“You’re even taller.” 

Gao concedes the point with a little tilt of his already crooked head. He hadn’t clocked, hadn’t realised just how terrible the position was for him since none of this had been about him. Sahciro seems to only just notice how uncomfortable Gao’s body is contorted and he reaches up, strokes his fingertips over the short buzzed hair, round his ear and down his neck. 

“Whats that for?” Gao whispers, swallowing and licking his lips out of habit. Sachiro’s eyes, tear streaked, blown pupils and all, zeros in on the movement. Almost immediately Gao’s stomach clenches and quivers, its all he can do to stay still as Sachiro leans into him. 

“You’re an idiot, Gao Hakuba, you know that? I used to think I was wrong, that you were a genius in disguise, you study hard and you know stuff. But you aren’t.” Sachiro breathes but he says it like its knowledge he’s just learned, shocked and awed, his voice tender and soft. It’s hard to battle with the urge to stare at Sachiro’s lips, and he loses, terribly. He looks from Sachiro’s lips to his eyes and back, over and over like he’s hypnotised. And he is, he always has been. Too blinded by Sachiro to make the right choices. 

The faint feeble voice of protest, telling him he’s filth in the back of his mind because hadn’t he just held Sachiro as he sobbed and didn’t he have any goddamn pride for himself, vanishes at the first press of Sachiro’s hot plush lips press against his own. 

His skin is hot under the rough pads of Gao’s thumbs. His skin is hot because he had just been crying. 

He’s only human, he’s only human, and he’s a weak one at that. An idiot. He slips his fingers through Sachiro’s hair and deepens their kiss to coax a desperate groan from his lips. 

Then he thwacks his head on the table and bites his own tongue. 

“Fuck,” Gao hisses. And Sachiro stares at him for one second, two, before his body erupts into laughs so hard he wheezes. 

Gao, despite himself, has enough mind to pout and leaves Sachiro shaking with laughter under the table to get ice, the memory of his lips etched into his mind. 

-

Sachiro doesn’t cry again. Even though Gao’s ready for it, has practiced what he can say in his mind, hands aching to hold him in his vulnerability again. Instead Sachiro slinks out from under the table, takes over the ice collection and directs Gao to his sofa. 

He sits on the other end, pats his lap, and waits. 

Gao blinks at him. He’s not going to fit on Sachiro’s lap. He says so. 

Sachiro snorts and flicks the already red lump on the side of his head, making him hiss and scrunch his nose. 

“Idiot,” he whispers again, fond. “Lay your head down on my lap. You can’t get concussed here. I only know how to deal with dazed dogs and cats.” He tilts his head as though with sudden thought, “Well actually, also horses so maybe you’ll be okay-”

Gao drops his head ungracefully to Sachiro’s lap and glares up at him for the comment, swallowing away the uncertainty at how intimate a position this is and focusing instead on the back-and-forth they’d had their entire life.. 

Sachiro doesn’t seem to notice, not like Gao, how incriminating they look. There’s a smirk on his face, that fades as he runs his fingers through Gao’s hair and finds the bump with gentle prodding touches. He’s all business as he presses the ice pack down, eyes flicking back down to Gao’s when he flinches from the cold. 

“Okay?” Sachiro breathes. 

Gao wants to kiss him. 

“Yeah.”

He ends up closing his eyes, conscious that despite his best efforts he’d managed to make this about him, conscious that he was supposed to be here to help Sachiro and instead Sachiro keep carding his fingers through Gao’s hair and distracting him from the headache. He tells himself he can relax for a little while. There’s nothing wrong with just a little while. A minute or two, greedy and desperate. He could have that. 

Gao turns slightly, so that he can wrap one arm around Sachiro’s waist from behind. He doesn’t open his eyes. If he keeps them closed he could stay like this forever, he reasons. If he keeps them closed he didn’t need to think half as much. 

If he keeps his eyes closed, Sachiro is just the man he’s in love with, just the man whos touch calms him. That’s all. 

Dry, plush lips press against his, nipping them open, and Gao makes a terrible, raw sound. His eyes fly open as Sachiro pulls back to drop the now-melted ice pack, to give Gao space to get closer. The low burning arousal he can never really put out around his best friend roars and he shudders. In the space of a second Gao takes in the lust in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks, the warring uncertainty across his face. Uncertainty doesn’t suit Sachiro. Gao tells him. 

He rolls his eyes and fists his hands in Gao’s shirt, pulling him closer to press biting kiss after biting kiss to his lips. It has the same effect shot after shot of sake does. And by the time Sachiro pulls back, eyes dark and determined, Gao feels intoxicated. 

“Gao Hakuba,” Sachiro says, fingers on the side of his face, patting gently so that he’d focus. He tries, the world comes to a standstill. He focuses on Sachiro. Wants him. The smirk on Sachiro’s face fades into something eager and urgent as Gao’s hands around his waist pull him closer, legs tangled. Sachiro is warm and soft, wriggling to help. They both groan when their crotches press against each other through their pants. 

The thought that there’s no going back after this flickers through Gao’s head, unwarranted and cruel. He dismisses it easily. There’s never been any going back for him. Not since highschool. The want inside him is insidious, it never goes away, it only gets stronger and stronger with every inch that Sachiro gives him. 

“Come back,” Sachiro whispers, his lips pressed against the length of Gao’s throat. He almost blacks out from that alone. 

“I’m here,” he whispers back, hands slipping under Sachiro’s shirt, searching for skin and committing the softness to memory. 

Their lips brush again, the kiss deepens, turns filthy and unrelenting. He doesn’t pull back to breathe, not when Sachiro has parted his lips for his tongue, not when Sachiro groans so softly. 

“How-” 

Gao pulls him closer still, until he’s flush, ass pressed over Gao’s lap, hands in his hair. 

Sachiro swears, low and filthy, as he pulls back to breathe. 

He’s looking at Gao like he wants to punch him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes overwhelmingly intense. He’s looking at Gao like he’s trying to figure out the world’s hardest puzzle. He’s looking at Gao like- Oh. He understands now, a slow smile spreading across his lips. 

“It’s okay, Sachi-kun,” he murmurs, hand splaying across the small of his back, “You’re allowed to be turned on. You’re a big boy now and-”

He’s expecting the flick so it doesn’t hurt as much, but his laugh is cut off, strangled in his throat, by the intensity of the kiss Sachiro initiates.

“I don’t-” Sachiro is murmuring, kissing over Gao’s jaw to his neck, dropping his head, “I don’t understand you.” He sounds fierce. 

“Sachiro?”

He pulls back suddenly. 

“What do you want?” he snaps, eyes blazing. They look like honey. Gao drinks in the sight of him, the feel of him on his lap, those nimble capable fingers through his hair. Feels his heart crack and surge and tremble. 

“I want you,” Gao says.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have plans to add more to this, but this is a tentative feeler first chapter, to see if anyone out there sees what I see.


End file.
